Charles appeared, obviously apologetic. “What is it now?” “Mr. Bonsor, Sir Gaffrey. He be due at Home Farm. If so be as you won’t see him——” The Squire turned to his wife. “I can’t see Bonsor this morning. You know, Mary, there is something about Bonsor’s face which irritates me beyond endurance. He invariably smiles when things go wrong.” “See him, dear, and get it over.” “Very well. I’ll see Mr. Bonsor here and now.” “Yes, Sir Gaffrey.” “And when you are speaking to me, Charles, kindly remove that imbecile grin. You would grin at your own mother’s funeral.” “Yas, Sir Gaffrey; I mean, no. Mr. Fishpingle, he did tell me that you fancied a cheerful, upliftin’ countenance.” “You take your orders from me for the future.” Charles disappeared. The Squire said entreatingly to Lady Pomfret: “Don’t go, Mary. I’ll get rid of Bonsor in two minutes. The fellow has no initiative, none. I have much to say to you. Who engages servants?” “What servants? I suppose that the master of the house engages his butler. I engage the upper women servants. Mrs. Randall engages the young maids.” “What a mess we’re in, confound it!” “Alas! yes.” “Have you seen Lionel?” “No.” “He has the common decency to keep out of my sight. We must deal with these refractory servants first. Strikes! In my village! That we should live to see it. Shush-h-h! I hear Bonsor. His step is heavier than his wits.” Bonsor entered, very deprecating. He bobbed his head to Lady Pomfret, greeted the Squire perfunctorily, and sat gingerly upon a chair near the desk which the Squire indicated with a wave of his hand. “Well, Bonsor, I can see by your face that you have something unpleasant to tell me.” Bonsor “bobbed” again. “Don’t bob, man! Out with it!” “You promised to let me have those estimates for the drainage of the water meadows.” “Um! Fishpingle has them. They shall be sent up this afternoon.” “Thank you, Sir Geoffrey. The coal has been ordered, a truck. Can you tell me what was paid for the last delivery, per ton?” “No, I can’t. But I’ll let you know.” “One more matter, Sir Geoffrey. The bill for the chancel repairs is heavier than I expected. If you could go over the accounts with Mr. Hamlin——” “Later. Not to-day.” “That is all, I think, for this morning.” He rose, smiling, bobbed again, and went out. Sir Geoffrey raised hands and eyes to the ceiling. “Why, Mary, do I have such a lot of chuckle-headed ignoramuses in my employ? I ask you—why?” She replied gravely: “Because, dear, you love to have your own people about you, which is so nice and endearing of you.” “Thankless swine! I feel a draught. Is a window open? Yes. Who opened it?” He shut the window and returned to the sofa upon which Lady Pomfret was sitting. He sat beside her, took her hand in his, and patted it gently. “Now, Mary, I sent for you because I want you to see Ben and bring him to his senses.” “Oh-h-h-h!”